When you’re flying direct from Oakland to China and have never been, you kind of just assume the route is a straight shot, zip right across the Pacific for 12 hours, don’t hover over land until you’ve arrived.

I flew on the Warriors’ charter — never have before, likely won’t again, but this situation was unique. The logistics of the trip were complicated, so the team piled 160 people into a monstrous two-story 747 jet — family, friends, minority owners, team dancers, diplomats, media members.

“I’ve never met half these people before,” an assistant coach told me.

The seats were massive, pods able to recline almost fully horizontal. It made it easy to sleep. So soon after takeoff, I did, waking up I don’t know how many hours later right around the middle of the flight.

I popped up the window blind to my left, figuring, like I said, we’d be somewhere over the deep Pacific Ocean.